


As Long As You're Mine

by justanotherbusyfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 07:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherbusyfangirl/pseuds/justanotherbusyfangirl
Summary: You’re a witch who gets into a spot of trouble, bringing back the one man you’ve ever loved to your house to either hunt or help you.





	As Long As You're Mine

Your hands shook as you tied the hex bags together. You set each of them to the side, ready to use them when or if necessary. You had anti-demon, auto-exorcism, and hellhound repellers ready to go, multiple sets of them just in case.

When the hex bags were all done, you grabbed the goofer dust from your trunk, sprinkling it all along the windows and doors of your house, right inside of the salt line that was already permanently under the floorboards there. When that was finished, you stood in the middle of your living room, heart pounding and mind racing.

Why was this happening to you now, of all times? You’d been peaceful, living in this small town, staying out of the way. You had a job, friends, a life. You hadn’t done anything bad in years, couldn’t even imagine reverting back to your old self, what you had once been. Wicked.

Then the demons came. You weren’t sure what exactly they wanted, but they had found you. First they were just lurking on the street outside of the library where you worked, then they began coming in and sitting at empty tables, staring at you. You could smell the stench of them, the rotten demon smell permeating your senses.

After a couple weeks of them just watching you, one of them made a move. He came up to the circulation desk just before the library was scheduled to close, when the library was at its emptiest. You had cursed yourself for not having anything on you to fight, but it had been so long since you’d been in any sort of trouble that you didn’t carry things for fighting with you anymore.

“You need to come with us,” the demon had said simply, and you shook your head at him. 

“No, thank you.”

He wasn’t pleased with your response, but he surprised you when he merely turned and walked away. You thought that would be that, but you were sorely wrong. What you didn’t know was that he left the library and immediately injured the body he was inhabiting, causing the man to end up in the hospital with no memory of the previous days.

That was two weeks ago, and for the past two weeks you had a demon coming up to you two or three times a day, always saying the same things: “You need to come with us,” or “You will help us,” or “It’s time for you to come, now.”

Each time, you stayed polite, saying a nice “no” and watching as the demons walked away. They would inevitably do one thing or another to injure their meat suit before smoking out. Your heart hurt for those people, but you couldn’t think of what to do. You couldn’t go with them - you had no idea what they wanted from you and couldn’t risk them using your powers for evil. You began carrying an auto-exorcism hex bag in your pocket, and you squeezed it for comfort each time they approached you. Maybe you could use it to save their hosts before they got hurt. But you never got the nerve to throw the hex bag their way.

It was all fine and dandy, until today.

This time, instead of your run-of-the-mill demon approaching you, it was him.

Crowley.

King of Hell.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he had said smoothly, leaning over the circulation counter so that he could look at you from head to toe. “I hear that you’re being a bit resistant to my demons.”

You swallowed, nervous to be in the presence of the literal King of Hell. You couldn’t think of any reason why he would need you, of all witches, but here he was. “My apologies, but I am happy here and don’t wish to have anything to do with demons, sir.”

Crowley smiled at your politeness, but the smile was not a friendly one. “Y/N, here’s where we are having trouble. I need your help, so you will be coming with me. I tried to be nice, send some people to help you come quietly, but my patience is waning.”

You gulped, squeezing the auto-exorcism hex bag in your pocket even though you knew it would have no affect on the King of Hell.

“I will be at your house tonight at midnight to collect you. Pack your belongings and be ready to leave, or we will have some issues.”

With that, Crowley took a jolly rancher from the candy bowl on the counter, turned around, and walked out of the library as if nothing strange was happening at all. Your heart didn’t stop pounding until he was out the door, and once he had left you ran to find the library manager.

You apologized profusely, babbling something about a family emergency, and left work as fast as your feet would carry you.

That was four hours ago - it was now 10 o’clock. 2 hours to go before Crowley was at your door. You had no idea what you were going to do.

A pounding on your front door startled you. It was only 10, was Crowley early? Was he here to make sure that you had your bags packed?

You stood frozen in the middle of your living room for too long, it seemed, as one more set of pounding knocks sounded before the door was kicked open. You gripped your auto-exorcism hex bag tight in your palm, praying that the goofer dust on the door would keep the demons out, or if that didn’t work, you hoped the demon would get stuck by the devil’s trap painted under the mat.

Your eyes were trained on the door to the hall that led to your front door, waiting. You heard some scuffling (were they stuck, did they get trapped after all?) before two bodies came running in the room, guns out.

Your hands immediately flew up in surrender, but you didn’t drop your hex bags. 

The Winchesters kept their guns trained on you, scowls on their faces. “Y/N, what the hell have you been up to?” Dean asked, obviously angry. The tone of his voice reminded him of the first time you met the brothers, years ago.

It was when you were at your worst, working with a coven of witches who didn’t always do the right thing. In fact, they rarely used spells for the positive, but rather sold and performed spells to spite people. Their largest clientele were scorned lovers, and the group of the four of them had become quite well known for being able to seek revenge.

You had been happily working with them for a while, but soon started to regret the part you had taken in the whole situation. You found yourself attempting to thwart the spells, lessening the effects or convincing your sisters to not kill but just injure (mentally, physically, whatever) the people, so that at least they would be alive…

After dropping nearly twenty bodies, either by killing or cursing or a few other more interesting types of punishments, the Winchesters had rolled into town, ready for the hunt. You had seen them the moment they came to town, mesmerized by their attractive faces and hoping that they could help you break free of your coven.

You had approached them one evening, going straight to their motel room. You knocked on their door, sending a wish to whomever was listening that they would allow you to explain yourself, not kill you immediately, and maybe let you help shut down the coven.

Dean had answered the door, letting you in and immediately training his gun on you. “Talk.”

“My name is Y/N, and I’m a witch,” you had said, hands out with palms up to show that you had no tricks. “I am here to help you, I want out. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore, but I can’t stop them by myself.”

Sam had been the first to believe you, but Dean had taken a little more convincing. You kept talking, explaining the system that you and your coven used, where they were all located, the types of defensive spells they had on hand - everything they would need to stop the witches. It wasn’t until you had given Sam a recipe for witch-burning salve to cover bullets and knives (you had proven that it worked by using it to burn your own arm) that Dean began to trust you. 

Together, the three of you had taken down your coven, and you could still hear the screams of your sisters to this day.

After that, the Winchesters called you for aid with cases, and you sometimes travelled with them. You and Dean had become close, but he was always an arm’s length away because of your magic. You knew that he could never truly trust you as long as you had powers, but you couldn’t rid yourself of the power, no matter how much you wished you could. They came from within you - were a part of you - and you couldn’t get rid of them. You worked to made every moment last while you were with Dean, knowing that any moment could be the last.

Eventually it hurt too much to be with them - with Dean - so for the past few years you asked them to leave you out of hunting as much as possible. You wanted a normal life, one where you weren’t pining after a Winchester with every move, and that’s what you had gotten.

Until Crowley.

Dean pulled you from your memories with another yell. “Y/N! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put this bullet in your skull! And drop that damn hex bag!”

Your eyes watered, hoping that Dean wouldn’t be the one to kill you, especially now. It was so good to see him again, but you knew that you would have to talk fast. You slowly lowered your hand to the ground, placing the hex bag softly there so it wouldn’t break. As you stood back up, you spoke.

“Hey Dean, hey Sam,” you started with, a small smile on your face. “I hope you didn’t break the goofer dust line in my doorway?”

The brothers made eye contact, and you could tell they had noticed the line. “We didn’t,” Sam replied slowly, eyes coming back to you and fingers flexing on his gun. “Why was there goofer dust out?”

You sighed, putting your hands down by your sides. “Crowley’s coming for me. At midnight.”

Dean took a threatening step forward, finger moving to the trigger of his gun. “Why is Crowley coming for you? What have you been doing here, Y/N? There are two dozen people dead or in the hospital, with no memories of why!”

You shook your head as you spoke, pleading with your eyes. “I swear I haven’t done anything. About two weeks ago, demons started showing up in town. They’d come to my work - I work at a library, by the way,” you said in Sam’s direction, seeing the corner of his mouth quirk up with that tidbit of information. He knew how much you liked to read, it was a quality the two of you shared. “They started telling me things like, ‘You’re coming with us,’ or ‘We need your help,’ but I always said no. When I’d say no, they’d get their meatsuits injured or killed, showing me that they were serious…”

“What do they want you for?” Sam asked, his hands lowering his gun slightly.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It wasn’t until today that Crowley showed up, told me he was tired of waiting and that he’d personally come pick me up tonight. I can’t go with them, guys. They can’t make me do something for them, I just know it, but I can’t go back to that…”

Emotions began welling up inside of you, the terror of reverting back to your wicked ways overtaking your body. You dropped to your knees, tears beginning to fall. “I’d rather you kill me right now than let Crowley take me to be his puppet. Just do it,” you looked at Dean. “Please.”

Sam and Dean met eyes once more before they both lowered their guns. Dean tucked his in the back of his jeans before he approached you, kneeling right in front of you. 

“We won’t let him take you, and we’re not going to kill you. We’ll help you figure this out, Y/N.” Dean’s hands on your shoulders were warm, and you let your body slump toward him. You rested your forehead on his shoulder, wetting his shirt with tears.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and you felt him nod.

As you collected yourself, the boys had a quiet conversation. Eventually Sam nodded, heading back to the door. Dean turned to you. “Sam’s going to see what he can find out from the vics at the hospital. I’m staying here with you.”

You nodded, waving at Sam. Dean followed him to the door, presumably checking the goofer dust before closing it. While he was there you stood, reassessing your stash of hex bags. Dean came up next to you, questions in his eyes.

You pointed as you spoke, “These are anti-demon - they’re placed throughout the house and these were the extras. Those are auto-exorcism, you just have to throw them and hit the demon, it’ll make ‘em smoke out without killing their host. And these are hellhound repellers. Not sure how well those work, as it’s a new recipe. Actually, not sure how well the others work either - I had to make them with some old ingredients. I’m not really practicing anymore…”

Dean nodded, grabbing one of the extra anti-demon bags and sticking it in his jacket pocket. “Sorry we came barging in on you, Y/N. I shoulda known you wouldn’t be killing again.”

You shrugged, moving to the couch and sitting down. Dean followed. “It’s alright. I mean, this is all my fault, since I haven’t gone with the demons. I just didn’t know what to do, and then when Crowley showed up…”

You looked up at the clock on the wall. 10:30. Dean’s gaze followed yours, noting the time. “Crowley said midnight?”

You nodded, looking down at your hands. What could you and Dean do for an hour and a half, just sit and twiddle your thumbs?

Only about ten minutes of awkward silence passed before a prickling hit the back of your neck. Something was happening, something bad.

You stood up, looking around the room. Dean stood with you, watching you carefully as you assessed your house. Your eyes were drawn to the windowsill where goofer dust was gathered - and catching on fire. 

The two of you watched as the dust turned to useless ash, and you felt another wave of power hit the outside walls of your house, where your anti-demon hex bags were stashed. Immediately you knew they had been disabled.

“Get ready,” you said to Dean, grabbing a couple auto-exorcism hex bags and focusing your mind inward, getting control over the power that lay deep inside of you. Dean had his gun in hand, unlatching his demon blade from its hilt so he had easy access.

All at once, demons entered your house - two from the front door, two from the back door, and a few windows breaking throughout to let others in. You heard a booming voice from Crowley, not physically present but somehow sending his thoughts to you: “You shouldn’t have tried to fight, little one. Now you will pay!”

You and Dean were caught up in the fight, trying to stay back-to-back as the demon attackers approached from all sides but not always being able to stick together. There were multiple points of entry to your living room, so you were forced to work fast, throwing hex bags every which way while sending beams of pure witch-energy toward other demons. 

You lost track of Dean and the demons he was fighting, overwhelmed on your side of the room by four demons. You got two to smoke out, but one of your auto-exorcism bags missed (you were a little out of practice with the whole fighting thing). You happened to glance to Dean to see his gun flying from his hand, immediately pulling his demon blade out and lunging for a gigantor demon who was also wielding a knife. 

You couldn’t watch what was happening, as you were grabbed from behind by a demon, but you used him as leverage to kick another in the face. It didn’t do much good, as the demon you kicked recovered quickly and grabbed your legs, suspending you in mid-air between the two demons.

From the other side of the room, out of your view, you heard Dean yell in agony.

That was it. You would not let Dean be injured because of you or these demons. He was too good, too pure, too wonderful to get hurt for you.

Using Dean’s pain-filled cries as fuel, you focused on the energy inside of you, coiling it up as tightly as possible before letting it out, the wave of pure magic immediately disintegrating every demon in your house.

For the first time in a long time, you felt wicked. The energy that left your body was pure magic, coursing strong. You dropped to the ground, demons no longer holding you mid-air, but quickly rolled over, rushing to where Dean lay on the floor.

The wicked feeling left you as soon as you saw him, replaced with something deeper and raw - grief. He was gasping for breath, blood bubbling from his mouth. You looked down and saw a long, deep cut from his shoulder to his belly button, red gushes of blood staining his shirt. His eyes were wide, pleading with you to do something to help him as he couldn’t get words to leave his mouth.

“No, no, no,” you were whispering, your hands moving to his open wound. “You can’t leave me, Dean, no you can’t…”

Tears began welling in your eyes, the sight of the great Dean Winchester bleeding out on your floor hitting you like a ton of bricks. You couldn’t let this man die. He was important. He was the only good thing that you had.

“You can’t go, Dean, you can’t leave me,” you kept saying, hopping up and running to your cabinet, searching for a few healing powders and herbs before rushing back to him. When you kneeled back down, Dean’s hand grabbed your arm, squeezing tight.

“Stay with me tonight, Dean, hold on. This is gonna hurt.”

You began chanting, putting powder after herb after powder over the wound, all mixed with your tears. After a minute you stopped, having done all the things you could think of. Dean was still unable to speak, but his eyes spoke volumes. They were staring straight into your soul, and your heart broke.

“Dean, just fight. Don’t leave me, I -”

You swallowed, wondering if now was the time. Oh what the hell, now was the only time. 

“Dean, I love you. You can’t leave me because I love you.”

A tear left the corner of Dean’s eye as his hand moved from your arm to grasp at your fingers, holding you tight. You leaned down to kiss his lips lightly, the tangy metallic taste of blood there. You pulled back just a bit and looked deep into his eyes, the green specks holding your gaze. 

Not knowing what else to do, you once again gathered your energy tight in your belly, focusing on Dean’s wounds. You squeezed his hand tightly in yours, moving your free hand to hover above the cut on his chest.

“I love you, Dean, so much,” you whispered, sending your magic toward his body through both of your hands.

His eyes scrunched tight, his body overwhelmed by the magic coursing through it. You closed your eyes too, focusing as long as you could before your power was exhausted, your body becoming weak next to his. His hand was still in yours as you slumped forward, your forehead resting on his own.

A beat of time passed before you felt a hand on the back of your head, threading through your hair. “I love you too, Y/N,” Dean whispered, and you forced your tired eyes open. He was looking up at you, smiling. “Why else would I fight so many demons just to save a witch? You’re my witch to save, you’ve got me under your spell…”

You leaned back as he sat up, the cut on his torso nearly healed. Your eyes widened as your free hand trailed along the cut, fingers feeling the scar that was in its place.

Dean’s hand came to your chin, bringing your face to look back up at him. You smiled, relieved that he was okay. “That was some blast of healing you gave me there,” he joked, and you huffed.

“Didn’t know that I could do that…” you admitted shyly, truly having no idea how you had healed him.

“All that matters,” Dean responded, “is that it did, and now we’ve got to make up for some lost time, babe. We can do this, as long as you’re mine.”

He pulled your face toward his, capturing your lips with his for a real kiss. 


End file.
